


Spellbound

by ljke



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: RusAme, a rewatch, francis and arthur mention, hooyah, implied FrUK, one day i will write something as good as re:conciliation again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljke/pseuds/ljke
Summary: The magic was like nothing he'd ever seen before.(Alfred tries not to think of the Church)





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> no i cant stop writing ~500 word pieces i be having issues with impact  
no i wont stop writing about ivan's eyes until i can accurately compare them to something

**PORT KRONSTADT**

**1763**

  


The kind of sunset that made him think of his father's violin playing. The smooth, near-melancholic drags of bow over string that told a story Alfred could never replicate (because unlike Arthur, he couldn't see the tragedy behind his eyelids) no matter how much he was scolded.

It brought a smile to his face, the simplicity of the scene before him. Maybe his song would one day sound like the sun kissing the clouds goodbye. (He hoped so)

The kind of sunrise that made him think of his father’s lone pondering on the veranda, humming a tune Alfred could not recognize (because unlike Francis, he had not known the battle in which such hymn was sung) however many mornings he’d heard it.

It made something blossom in his chest, the prospect of a new opportunity to seize. Maybe he would one day have the tune of valiant battles to relive. (They’d be marches, maybe)

The midday that brought his eyes upon familiar ones (lodged in someone else’s skull). They reminded him of magic, of the very witchcraft he could never stop being astonished by no matter how much the church shunned it. They were Matthieu’s, but older-- _ ancient _, wiser, deeper, more mysterious than anything he’d ever seen before. 

_ This must be the curse they speak of, _Alfred pondered, out of breath even in his own mind. He could indeed feel it, the very hexation of his soul as he stared up into them.

The midday that held the sun high above them, made him (he’d never seen hair so white, so reminiscent of ash burned through far past capacity) appear as an archangel. On the bow of that ship he stood, and Alfred was in awe. The broad shoulders, the build as sturdy as the iron he came here for, and those eyes. Those foreign eyes that were so familiar yet so damning. The grip of his mighty hand on a stray sail rope tightened when he saw the young colony, and he knew he could be shattered with one blow from it. With a tingling between his eyebrows, Alfred knew.

_ You are Russia. _

_ (And be damned if I fall under your spell.) _


End file.
